


Take Up Your Spade and Break Ground

by patster223



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Unierse - No Kaiju, Alternate Universe - 911 dispatcher, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fire, Found Family, Grief, Happy Ending, Hermann has MS, M/M, MS flare-up, Mugging, Shatterdome Family, Tendo is a 911 dispatcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tendo Choi is a 911 dispatcher because it pays well and because he's damn good at it. He doesn't take the job with the expectation of finding a family -- but sometimes the people who call end up up meaning a hell of a lot, and Tendo's never been one to stay detached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Up Your Spade and Break Ground

**Author's Note:**

> The AU I didn't really expect to write, but here it is! As a 911 dispatcher, Tendo does have to deal with some difficult situations, so mind the tags. I researched the position, but if you find I'm misrepresenting a 911 dispatcher's job in any way (or, for that matter, would like me to tag anything else), please let me know. If you feel like it, you can get updates on my ficcing on my [tumblr](http://patster223.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Title is from the song Take Up Your Spade by Sara Watkins.

Tendo takes the job because it pays well enough for him to move out on his own and because it doesn’t require a college diploma. Granted, becoming qualified for the job takes nearly as long as completing said diploma would have –- but Tendo’s tired of being a student and he’s not in debt when he starts out, so he’ll take it.

When he answers his first call as a 911 dispatcher, he’s wired on three cups of coffee and mentally running through every tip he’d received during his seven month training. Stay calm, collect as much information as possible, shit can and _will_ happen, but most importantly of all: _stay calm._ For some, mystifying reason, Tendo thinks that it seems like a pretty straightforward gig.

As it turns out, staying calm is a lot harder than he’d thought it’d be -– but that’s mostly because it’s excruciatingly difficult not to yell at a man for calling _911_ because his cat’s _stuck_ on the roof.

“Jesus,” he sighs, when the man finally disconnects.

The woman sitting next to him –- Alison, was it? –- sends him a shark-like grin as she finishes her call. “Hey, cat in a tree ain’t the worst first call to deal with, Tend,” she says to him.

As it turns out, she’s right. Tendo has to deal with a surprising amount of wrong numbers and misdials, to the point where he’s wondering why they didn’t warn him more about this in training. But the first serious call he receives makes him wonder whether his training had prepared him for this job at all.

 _Nothing can prepare you that kind of shit -– you just have to live it_ , Tendo will think later.

Because when you’re answering the phone, you never know what kind of call it’s going to be. You need to be able to expect _everything_ , but Tendo’s been on the job for one day. He doesn’t know how to be prepared for a thousand possibilities at once, not yet. Tendo has just answered three bullshit calls in a row, and so when he picks up the phone only to hear a kid’s voice crying in Japanese, he almost doesn’t know what to do.

For perhaps a fraction of a second, dim panic races through his veins and he thinks _this is a_ kid, _a kid I don’t even know how to_ talk _to._ But Tendo takes a deep breath and is gratified to find that his voice is steady when he speaks. “Can you speak English? What is the nature of your emergency?”

The kid's voice shakes like the trembling ground during an earthquake: “Fire.”

Fire. Okay, Tendo can deal with that. He knows how to respond to a fire. “Can you give me your exact location?” he says.

She answers in Japanese, but she called Tendo from a landline -– he thankfully doesn’t need to understand her in order to alert the fire department to her location. As he calls for a translation service, he addresses the girl: “Are you safe?”

A whimper comes over the line and Tendo -– his calm ripped out from under him and his stomach shaking, but his hands steady despite it all –- repeats himself. “ _Are you safe?”_

“I…I…”

 _She’s just a kid_ , Tendo reminds himself. Instead of sending rippling panic through him, this fact somehow grounds him. “Hey, hey,” he soothes her. “It’s okay. What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Mako,” she whispers.

“Mako’s a lovely name.” Much to his own astonishment, Tendo manages a grin -– as if he were just talking to his niece, instead of coaching this girl through a 911 call. “My name’s Tendo. Now, I’ve just sent my good friend Stacker Pentacost to come help you. He’s a firefighter and he’s the very best, so just stay calm, okay?”

Tendo has no clue how much Mako understands, but she breathes, “Okay.”

And Tendo breathes with her. He talks with her. Their breathing is like the tug of the tides: pulling their voices and the center of themselves towards each other until a translator allows them to finally understand each other.

“Mako,” he says. “Check if the path to the stairs is clear -- if it is, I want you to try to leave the building. If you need to open a door, feel it with the back of your hand first, and don’t open it if it’s too hot. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she says. Her voice cracks like dry earth. “It’s hot in here.”

Her breaths echo through Tendo’s skull, and he says, “Help is only a minute away, I promise. And I’ll be right here, Mako. I won’t hang up.”

His hands have never been steadier as they hold the phone up to his ear. He matches his breaths to what Mako’s might have been, and doesn’t hang up until he gets word from Pentacost that she’s okay.

Nothing can prepare you for that kind of shit. But even if Tendo hadn’t expected a nearly literal trial by fire, it seems that he’s passed it -- or maybe more than passed it, for Tendo has never felt so centered in his entire life.

He breathes and he breathes again. And he answers the next call.

 

For whatever reason, Tendo’s entire being feels orchestrated for these eight-hour shifts on the phones. Even at the end of his first day, Tendo knows that an ordinary job isn’t for him anymore. As he smokes a cigarette with Alison at the end of that day, he realizes that he’s made for _this_ , for the taught stretch of his fingers and his mind as they both reach to expect the next call.

Though even later, when he has a couple years of experience under his belt, there are still some things he just can’t see coming.

“We need a police car,” a Russian accent drawls on the other end of the line. He has the deepest voice Tendo has ever heard -- each word he utters is more growl than simple utterance.

“I’m in the process of sending one over,” Tendo says. “Can you tell me more about the nature of your emergency? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine,” the man says, as if surprised that Tendo would even ask. “An intruder attempted to enter our home, but all is fine now.”

“Did the intruder leave then?” Tendo asks, prodding for more information. Reticence is better than hysteria, but not by much.

“No, he is in the house now. My wife has him pinned to the floor. But we would appreciate it if someone could come take him off our hands please.”

Tendo manages to keep his laughter in until he finishes the call, but only barely. It gets to the point where Alison -– who by now has been on two dates with him -– has to hit him with her purse and yell at him to get back to work.

 

Tendo takes the job because it pays well and because he’s qualified for it.

Tendo takes the job because when he’s 21 years old, an earthquake hits San Francisco. He does all the right things: he runs to his grandfather’s house, he calls 911, he struggles to keep Yeye talking even as the language barrier stretches between them like a trench beneath the sea. He does all the right things, but it doesn’t make a difference.

The person on the other end of the 911 call doesn’t make much of a difference either. But her voice still doesn’t leave Tendo's ears until the ambulance finally arrives.

And, hell, Tendo’s never been under the illusion that he could ever make much of a difference -– not to the world or even to Yeye, not in this particular universe. But he’s always had the gift of gab, so maybe he can manage the next best thing: simply being there.

Tendo Choi looks up the requirements to become a 911 dispatcher a week later.

 

The worst call Tendo ever gets happens about five years after he first starts out. By then, Tendo thinks he’s got this job down to an art form: he’s seen and heard just about everything, he’s drinking buddies with half the police officers in San Francisco, and he’s even managed to move up from what Alison calls “the hell shift.”

But sometimes, when you answer that call, it’s someone you know. And even though they warn you about it in training, it’s still something that Tendo never truly believed could happen to him.

The voice on the other end of the line doesn’t wait for Tendo to say anything before giving his address and yelling, “I need an ambulance! There was a mugging, 25 year old male stabbed in the stomach -– I think his aorta’s been hit. Applying pressure to the wound, but p-patient is going into shock.”

 _He sounds like he’s not the only one_. Tendo’s eyes slip shut for just a moment as he recognizes the voice on the other end of the line. He remembers it from nights out drinking and chasing skirts when they were young and stupid, both of them just starting out. But Tendo’s grip on professionalism is iron-clad, and so his voice doesn’t shake when he answers, “An ambulance is on its way.”

“Tendo?”

“Don’t you worry, Becket boy,” Tendo says, his words smooth despite the tight fear curling up in his gut. “Looks like the Weis are the ones driving that old bucket tonight, so the ambulance should get to you ahead of schedule.”

“It’s Yancy, Tendo,” Raleigh breathes. “It’s Yancy.”

Tendo clutches his rosary. “Keep applying pressure on the wound, Raleigh. Keep talking to him.” By now it’s reflex for Tendo to say these lines, even though Raleigh already knows them by heart.

Over the speakerphone, as if transmitting from the other side of the world, Tendo hears Yancy say, “Raleigh, listen to me.”

He's not sure what’s said after that, or if anything is. All he can hear are Raleigh’s cracking, incomplete cries at the other end of the line.

Tendo lets out a shallow breath and then does the only thing he knows to do: talk. He talks to Raleigh. He tries to reassure him even as grief sits hollow and empty in his own chest. He talks until Raleigh hangs up the phone, and then only a minute later, Tendo takes another call and talks some more.

It’s the hardest call of his life. It feels like losing two friends at once, because after that day, he doesn’t hear from Raleigh for a long time. Tendo's texts and emails go mostly unanswered; he never quite brings himself to try calling either. A year goes by before Tendo starts to receive postcards from places like Reno, Los Angeles, Portland, Santa Barbara -– it’s only then that he knows that Raleigh is going to be okay.

The bullshit of it is, Tendo never considers quitting. It’s not even a question that crosses his mind. Because even when grief runs thick and heavy through him for that year until the postcards, this is what Tendo _does_ : he sits behind the scenes, and he talks and talks and talks. This is what he does, because in the past five years -- not even during Raleigh's call -- his voice has never once wavered on the job.

 

Tendo takes the job because he’s _good_ at it. Tendo was never the centerpiece of his friendships, but rather a cord that ran through them: stretched tight between individual points on the axis of their acquaintance. Now his touch holds together far more intricate connections: ambulance technicians and police officers and firefighters and the people waiting on the other end of those phone calls.

Tendo can do this because he's used to not snapping and he's used to keeping things together. His friends who don’t work in his circle ask him what the hell he’s doing, why the hell he’d ever subject himself to that shit.

Tendo usually answers with a grin and a quipped “It’s what I do brother,” because it’s hard to explain to them how fundamental this calling runs through him.

Because you know what? Love and dial tones and grief and a computer screen full to the brim of data fills his veins to bursting most days. And Tendo wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

 

“Oi, who’s this?” the voice on the other end of the line demands.

Tendo blinks. Not a question he’s usually asked. “This is emergency services, you just dialed 911. Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” the voice grumbles. “It’s my damn dog that’s the problem. Looks like he butt dialed you.” It’s a teenager’s voice, which can normally be enough to send Tendo’s heart plummeting towards his stomach -– but these are lighter circumstances, so this time it just sends a wide grin to his face.

Before he can say anything else, there’s a rustling and a yelled “Chuck!” on the other end of the line.

The teenager yells, “It wasn’t me, it was Max! He sat on the phone and managed to call 911!”

The other man’s voice is far away, but his yell is loud enough for Tendo to hear: “You’re supposed to be _training_ the damn thing, Chuck! You’re meant to look after him!”

By now, Tendo is capable of reigning in any emotion when he’s on a call. That being said, trying to restrain his laughter right now is damn near impossible. Still, he has to check- “So is everything okay over there, then?”

He can practically hear the kid rolling his eyes. “Just fine,” Chuck drawls. “Sorry about this mess, mate.”

Tendo manages not to laugh, but even he can hear the smile in his voice when he answers, “Not a problem, man.”

He takes other calls, but he’s stuck thinking about fathers and sons for the rest of the day. _Maybe someday._ Tendo glances over at Alison. He has to hide a smile as he runs his finger along the ring in his pocket.

 

When Tendo answers the phone, he hears nothing but yelling and screaming for at least ten seconds. “Hello?" he says, already getting ready to send a police car over. "This is 911, can you describe the nature of your emergency?”

The yelling stops. “Uh, yeah!” a voice squeaks. “My friend Hermann just collapsed and he says he can’t feel his leg, and... fuck, neither of us know what to do. I mean, his leg always hurts, but you can at least _feel_ hurt, you know, and right now he just says he can’t feel anything at all, which isn’t normal, so I think we need an ambulance and-”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” a stuffy, English voice -– Hermann's, probably -– says distantly. “Turn it on speakerphone, won’t you?”

A beep is followed by the squeaky guy still babbling in the background while the British guy gives his address. Hermann stiffly adds, “I have MS. Chronic pain is normal for me, but as my friend _attempted_ to explain, I just collapsed and cannot feel my leg. We’re only in town for a weekend conference and neither of us have cars, so we require an ambulance. Is that sufficiently clear, or need I explain further?”

Tendo has never heard anyone sound so _pissed off_ about needing an ambulance. It’s almost enough to bring a grin to Tendo’s face, but he picks up the barely restrained tremor in Hermann’s voice and only says, “Okay, one will be on its way shortly. Is everything else okay?”

“Excepting Newton’s constant nattering, yes,” Hermann mutters, to which the other man screeches, “You just collapsed out of nowhere, Herms, what do you want from me?”

The thing is, Tendo can’t disconnect the call without the other person’s say-so. He’d be a pretty shitty 911 dispatcher if he had the ability to hang up on people. This means he gets a front row seat to the argument that ensues, which is as entertaining as it is exhausting to follow.

After perhaps a minute of this squabbling, Newton finally shrieks, “I thought you were dying on me, dude!”

Tendo tries not to listen in, he really does. But it’s literally his _job_ to listen in, so he hears: “Dear Newton…I swear, I would not do that to you.”

Newton’s resulting laugh is slightly tinged with hysteria. “‘Dear Newton?’ Okay, now I _know_ there’s something wrong with you. When’s that ambulance going to be here, guy-on-the-phone?”

Tendo’s about to answer, but Hermann interrupts him. “You _are_ dear to me, Newton. You have always been so.”

 _Now would probably be a good time to kiss him, man_ , Tendo can’t help but think. Whether Newton does or doesn’t, Tendo has no idea, but he does hear a soft gasp and finally the words, “You too.”

The ambulance arrives about ten seconds afterwards, so Tendo has no clue what happens after that. But damn if he never wonders about those two. It ends up being one of Tendo’s favorite stories to tell, and it easily trumps his co-workers’ tales too: after all, none of them have ever had two idiots confess their love over a 911 call.  

 

Most of Tendo’s friends are also his co-workers in some capacity. This on its own isn't strange, though he supposes that someone might look at him oddly if he were to admit that he’s met almost everyone he cares about while answering 911 calls.

Tendo doesn’t really give a shit if they would or not. He’s happy where he is.

“Fire Marshal, huh?” Tendo says, shaking Pentacost’s hand. “Guess I won’t be sending you out anymore, will I?”

“I’m thankful for it,” Pentacost says. “Mako needs a more stable presence at home.”

Tendo can’t help but roll his eyes -– he cannot imagine a more stable point than Stacker Pentacost. What stability Mako has created for herself, she's been able to make with Pentacost at her side. The numerous family friends and co-workers crowding the living room for Mako’s twenty-first birthday are more than enough to attest to this fact.

But he doesn’t need to say as much -– Pentacost will thrive at his new position with or without Tendo's commentary on the subject.

Two Australian voices start shouting from the foyer and Pentacost says, “Excuse me, I have to show the Hansens in. And Mr. Choi?”

“Yeah?”

“You do know that Raleigh Becket is here?”

Tendo raises an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the same Raleigh Becket? Ambulance-technician-turned-construction-worker Becket? Postcard Becket?”

“The very same,” Pentacost says. “Go and say hello, Mr. Choi. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Tendo privately doubts that. Even if there hadn’t essentially been radio silence on Raleigh’s end for years now, Tendo doesn’t think that the guy wants to see him, an eternal reminder of what’d happened to his brother.

But much to his surprise, when he calls “Becket boy!” across the room, Raleigh replies with an enthusiastic “Tendo!” and envelops him in a hug.

Tendo grins as he pulls away from the embrace and looks Raleigh over. The other man's certainly thinner than he used to be, and damn if his hair couldn’t use a cut –- maybe Tendo will put him in touch with his barber -– but Becket is _smiling._ The lines that crease his face do not come solely from grief anymore: they come also from bright, sharp happiness.

“What the hell have you been up to, brother?” Tendo says. His punch to Raleigh’s arm lands a bit harder than he means it to, but fuck –- Tendo was _worried._ Sure, it’s Tendo’s day job to worry, but damn if he can’t help but let it slip into those other spaces in his life too. Especially where Raleigh Becket is concerned.

“Construction jobs, mainly,” Raleigh says. Tendo doesn’t need to push him –- Raleigh knows him, knows that Tendo is good at what he does, and what he does is ask a _lot_ of questions -– before he adds, “I met Mako while I was working on a job at the hospital she’s interning at. She invited me here today.”

Oh, there is _definitely_ more to the story than just that. Tendo knows the look Raleigh is sending Mako across the room, he knows that soft sigh and dopey smile. He’s sure it’s the same look that graces his own face when he looks at Alison. But Tendo is content to let it go –- for now, anyway. He suspects that he’ll have plenty of opportunities to interrogate Raleigh in the near future.

Mako catches Raleigh’s eye and waves them over. She’s talking to two other guys –- both of them are probably in their thirties, but one is dressed like he’s trying to look sixty and the other is dressed like he’s trying to look twenty. The contrast brings a grin to Tendo's face.

“I’m glad you could make it, Tendo,” Mako says warmly. “Where is Alison?”

“Morning sickness,” Tendo says. He sounds smug as shit about it, but damn it he cares. “Sends her love, but she decided to stay home.”

Mako nods. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. Raleigh, you've already met Newt and Dr. Gottlieb. Tendo, this is Dr. Newton Geiszler and Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.”

“Call me Newt,” Newton says. “Only my mother calls me doctor. And this guy.” He nudges Gottlieb in the ribs and the other man huffs in annoyance.

“Nice to meet you,” Tendo says, shaking each of their hands. Newt’s grip is less of a handshake and more of a slap to the hand, while Gottlieb’s touch is firm and fleeting. Tendo likes the two of them already. “How do you know our lovely Mako?” he asks.

“I’ve known the Fire Marshal since we both lived in London. Dr. Geiszler here is conducting research at Mako’s hospital -– apparently they struck up an accord.” Gottlieb shrugs in a sort of _what can you do_ gesture. “I’m taking a visiting professorship nearby while he finishes his research.”

“We’re also engaged,” Newt interrupts smugly.

Gottlieb scowls, but the expression hardly holds any malice –- the man is looking far too pleased to manage it. “Must you bring it up _everywhere_ we go?”

“Uh, yeah. If you didn’t want me to show us off, you shouldn’t have gotten me this expensive ring, dude,” Newt says, raising his voice over Hermann’s irritated response.

The argument sends a prickling familiarity down Tendo’s spine. He frowns. “How did you two get together?” he asks.

Tendo ends up doubled-over laughing midway through their story, much to everyone’s confusion. _Training just can’t prepare you for this shit_ , he thinks. But then again, Tendo’s always preferred simply living to training.

It takes a full minute of Tendo working his way through wheezing laughter before he’s finally able to explain himself –- a process that is long, filled with even more gasping chuckles, and ends with the five of them giggling to themselves over the kitchen table.

 

Tendo takes the job because it pays well and because it doesn’t need a college diploma. He takes it because of his Yeye and because, yeah, he wants to make a difference. He stays with it because he’s damn good at what he does –- and moreover, it’s what he _needs_ to do.

As a room full of people stand around Mako, watching her blow out the candles on her cake, Tendo reflects that while he’s always known why he does what he does, somehow he’s never realized that he has _this_ too: a room full of friends, a family made up of the people he’s met just by picking up the phone.


End file.
